


Breakdown in the Bookstore

by abyss1826



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Neglect, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Suicide Attempt, suicidal character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-07-26 02:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20036641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abyss1826/pseuds/abyss1826
Summary: When a regular visitor to the shop brings someone in need of a place to breathe, Aziraphale and Crowley are reminded of whose side they had been on 18 years ago.





	1. Chapter 1

Hillary Youssef was not an unusual sight to Aziraphale. She was a local, strong willed enough to ignore his hostility toward customers and become someone he could trust to use his shop as a library more than anything. She always managed to place the books exactly where she had found them. Her own human miracle, he supposed.

The lanky young man she pulled by the jacket into the bookshop after her, however, was new. So he thought. The aroma of utter despair wafting from the boy was disorienting. His hair was a sort of dark green, but the brief look the angel caught of him revealed the bright shade that was intended splotched onto his ears. 

Aziraphale got up from behind the counter and peaked around the shelves into the sitting area certain humans like Hillary liked to stay.

“I’m gonna throw myself off of a bridge,” the young man croaked.

“No you’re  _ not _ .” Hillary punctuated her sentence by shoving him into the couch.

“Bet he wouldn’t even bother to claim my body,” the boy continued, crumpling over his knees with his choppy shoulder length hair in his fists, “just rot in the damned Thames for all  _ they  _ care.”

“You’re not throwing yourself into the Thames,” she told him calmly as she, too, took a seat. “You’re going to sit and ride this out, take a nap here, and figure this out with a level head when you wake up.”

“To what end, Ry?! This isn’t just shitty abandonment issues! He cut me off! I have  _ nothing _ !”

Aziraphale bit his lip and shuffled into the kitchen. Tea didn’t fix things, but it sure made them bearable.

“-I’m sure that isn’t true,” he overheard as he approached with a tray of cups and biscuits. 

“Then why would they act like they never knew me? M‘Just a brat they didn’t want to deal with anymore.”

Aziraphale carefully set the tray down on the coffee table and glanced at Hillary, not wanting to overstep. She gave him a grim, tight-lipped smile. The angel began to feel nauseous as the lad’s mood spiraled down even further. Alarmed, and rightfully so, Aziraphale gave him a worried look.

“Are you quite alright dear boy?” He glared up at the angel with watery, red rimmed eyes, the frames of his black heart shaped sunglasses creaking under the force of his grip. 

The look was so horribly familiar, yet Aziraphale couldn't place it.

The puzzled look seemed to be the boy's last straw, as he abruptly rose from the couch and shoved his way passed. As he did, his face finally clicked, and Aziraphale's entire being sank in fear and shame.

"Warlock," he cried after him, "just wait a moment, please!"

But Warlock Dowling did not wait.

The door to the shop was slammed shut in Hillary's face and refused to open for her as he stalked into the growing darkness of the evening. 

He walked until he found his van, and as it roared the life he was determined that this would be the last anyone would ever see if him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for attempted suicide  
on a lighter note THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE COMMENTS I DIDN'T REPLY TO EACH ONE BUT SKLAJHFDFHGDHADFS <3!!!!!!!!

When Aziraphale realized that, through some strange force, Hillary was not going to be able to open the door, he sprinted into the bedroom upstairs. Crowley had been burrowed up asleep for the past few days, so the angel was not surprised when the commotion in the shop had not woken him.

“WE ARE HAVING AN EMERGENCY,” he declared, ripping several quilts out from around the demon’s coils.

“Nnggsskkssnnnnnnn,” was approximately the noise that Crowley replied with.

“WARLOCK IS IN DANGER.” 

That woke him up proper. Crowley sat up, quickly becoming human shaped mid-sentence.

“What do you mean?!”

“We need to follow him right now!”

“Agh-stsss,Thatsss not and explanaTION, ANGEL!” Crowley yelled as they were suddenly in the Bentley, Hillary falling over swearing in the back seat. “Where’s Warlock going?” he demanded, looking over his shoulder as he gunned through traffic in the vague direction that he felt the boy from.

“Black van? Thames,” Hillary sputtered, trying to get her bearings.

“Right. Off we go then.”

The Waterloo Bridge was remarkably empty as Warlock parked awkwardly over the median. He left the doors unlocked, tossed the keys onto the driver’s seat with his wallet and phone. He wouldn’t be using them anymore, and it’d be a right nuisance to everyone else if they weren’t able to move the van after….

Well.

After he’d killed himself.

He hopped over the barrier onto the pedestrian walkway and braced himself on the rail. He looked down into the brown waters of the Thames and wondered if it would be the impact or the drowning that would end him.

Either way, he’d get the job done.

The sound of tires screeching approached behind him, but he didn’t look. Someone yelled his name, but he didn’t look. With a strange sort of grace he slid over the white railing. He hoped the wind would drown out their yelling as he plummeted. 

Something caught Warlock around the waist and held him firmly. Wind still whipping through his hair, he opened his eyes and realized he was no longer moving down, but  _ forward _ , and his shadow on the water seemed to have… wings. His fantastical realization was confirmed to be real when they flapped, the mangled grey shape of them flashing into view for a moment as they gained height and turned around. He was too shocked to struggle. 

When he was placed back onto the bridge and Brother Francis hugged him, however, he had gotten over that. 

“Don’t touch me,” he shrieked, frantically trying to get away.

“We’re so sorry, we never imagined-”

“-get OFFA ME!” Warlock broke away and backed up, shaking, “Quit acting like you  _ care _ all of a sudden!”

“We never stopped,” another familiar voice said. Warlock spun around. Nanny Ash was angled between himself and the bridge rail, looking just the same as they had last time he had seen them, short hair and all.

“LIAR.” Crowley’s voice cracked.

“What?”

“You can’t show up after four years and act like you’ve never known me and then just! DISAPPEAR AGAIN!” 

“Oh,” they said in a heartbroken unison. For a moment Warlock just stood there, breathing too quickly and feeling sick. He didn’t have the energy to fight it when Nanny Ash pulled him to their chest and held him. 

“We’re never going to leave you again, hellspawn,” they whispered, “No force of Hell or Heaven would dare separate us.” They rocked gently from side to side, humming an old familiar tune until the boy’s panic began to subside.

“How about we get you home?” Aziraphale suggested softly.

“Th’don’ want me,” Warlock answered, muffled in Crowley’s shoulder.

“Our home, little one,” Crowley stated. When he felt the boy nod he performed another slight miracle, sending them back to the upstairs of the bookshop. Hillary, who had been hovering awkwardly around since Mr. Fell’s locally presumed husband sprouted wings, quickly collapsed onto a kitchen chair without bothering to question what was going on.

Warlock was alive, and that was the only going on that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love y'all's reactions dearly please keep commenting.


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale looked about. Crowley stood near the hallway, still holding Warlock. Hillary had her head in her hands. Figuring the boy’s situation was handled enough, for the moment, he went over to his friend.

“Would you like some cocoa?” he asked, then remembering that her age would allow it, “Or… something stronger?”

“Shouldn’t drink in front of him, he hates it,” Hillary replied tiredly. 

“Ah. Cocoa then?”

“Yes please, thank you.” She sighed and fixed her hijab, which had gone a bit wonky between the panic and the falling into the back of a car suddenly and whatnot. As she watched the Fells, chin in her hand, she couldn't be  _ that _ surprised. It wasn't uncommon for Warlock to wonder about the human status of his former caretakers, and they were both fairly odd from her experience of them in the bookshop.

"Mmm, Angel?" Mr. Fell's husband asked.

"Hm?"

"He fell asleep."

“Well? Put him to bed then! You can’t have forgotten how.”

“Of course not,” the tall man scoffed before softly regarding the best way to keep from waking up Warlock. Eventually he turned him slightly and picked him up under the knee, carrying him off into the bedroom. Hillary watched the door close.

"Well you've had a rather frightening day I'm afraid," the bookkeeper remarked as he set a mug down in front of her. She nodded, thanking him. "May I ask what led to this?"

"Thaddeus disowned him and kicked him out of the house." 

Aziraphale refrained from letting his emotions become too strong. 

"I don't know how he got his van, security wasn't allowed to let him in the garage, he had to call me to get him."

"That's…." _ Impossible, magic, a miracle, _ "Peculiar," he settled on. Hillary sighed, shaking her head.

"That's definitely a word for him, yeah. I was gonna let him sleep on our couch, he didn't want to bother my parents so I thought we'd see if you were open since… you know…" she glanced up at his quizzical expression. "You're good at helping." 

"Well, it's what I was made for," he smiled warmly. "So everything's alright with them? Your parents?"

"Yeah, they… they came around to it. I don't think they're ready for me to ask about medically transitioning, but mum took me hijab shopping, and taught me how to keep it secure and everything."

"I'm happy for you," he beamed. Some people's parents took much longer than two years, if ever. He was grateful she had made it so far. "Now then," he started, becoming serious again, "I'm sure you have some questions."

Meanwhile in the bedroom Crowley was doing his best. He flitted about untangling the nest he had made so it looked more like a proper bed while Warlock, who had woken up a bit, untied his ankle boots. Crowley didn't know what to say. That quickly became a non-issue when the boy pushed his hair behind his ear.

"What are those?" He hissed, glaring at the pink lines along the side of Warlock's jaw and neck.

"A cat scratched me," the boy replied easily. When he saw the look he was being given he shrunk a little.

"What did I teach you about lying?"

"Not to you."

"Thank you. Would you like to try that again?" Warlock looked down, biting the inside of his cheek and fiddling with the cuff of his jacket. A glimpse of medical tape sent another pain through the demon's chest, but he was still waiting on an answer.

"Father threw a glass at me last month."

"Did he now…" Crowley muttered icily, his teeth clenched hard enough to break bones. Warlock nodded slightly. Timid did not suit him, Crowley thought as he righted the last pillow. “You should sleep.” The boy shifted under the covers and removed his jacket but didn’t lie down. 

"Will you stay?" he asked in a small voice. The demon smiled soft and sad, crawling in next to him.

"Of course I will. For as long as you want me."

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment! It really motivates me to continue things.


End file.
